


keep yourself warm

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras falls in love with a sweater. (And its owner.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep yourself warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [herman_the_moth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herman_the_moth/gifts).



> This fic is for [Karol](http://caroll-in.tumblr.com/), because she drew the cutest icons of all time for my [writing blog](http://musains.tumblr.com/).

Enjolras was well aware that he and Grantaire weren’t the best of friends.

One day Grantaire had just shown up at one of their meetings at the Musain. Enjolras wasn’t sure if anyone had invited him or if he’d picked up one of their flyers somewhere or if he’d just stumbled into the Musain and found them by chance. In any case, no one had ever questioned his presence.

He’d never introduced himself to Enjolras, but it hadn’t been hard to figure out who he was – Grantaire, apparently Joly and Bossuet’s new favorite drinking buddy, quiet at first, but soon starting to take pleasure in speaking up and annoying the living hell out of Enjolras in the process.

Of course Enjolras cherished his friends’ comments, he loved a good discussion, but it soon became plainly obvious that Grantaire didn’t have anything productive to say. He contradicted Enjolras on every occasion and Enjolras had long since given up on trying to make him stop.

Going by that, it wasn’t actually surprising that they’d never really got along. Even when it wasn’t one of their meetings – when all of their friends met for dinner, when they were invited to a movie night, when they ran into each other at the library – they never had too many nice things to say to each other and each and every one of their conversations sooner or later resulted in an argument.

Quite frankly, Enjolras hated it. All of his friends got along with Grantaire, so why couldn’t he?

He saw how he was with the others, he joked around with Courfeyrac, shared his wine with Joly, drew pictures during meetings for Jehan – he shared something with all of them, but not with Enjolras.

It almost seemed like Grantaire didn’t even want to like him.

Sometimes Enjolras wanted to ask him what he thought that it was that made the two of them lash out at each given opportunity, but he wasn’t sure if Grantaire would have an answer for him.

So it was even more of a surprise to him when Grantaire one day decided to actually be nice to him.

Enjolras was sitting outside the library, waiting for Combeferre to pick him up, his knees drawn to his chest and his teeth clattering when a familiar green sweater was dropped right onto him.

“Don’t want you to freeze to death,” Grantaire mumbled, grinning down at him. He was only wearing a thin shirt now, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

“I’m waiting for Combeferre,” Enjolras said, staring down at the sweater.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Just take it, I’ve only worn it for a couple of hours, I swear.”

“I wasn’t…” Enjolras trailed off and picked it up. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”

“Do I look cold to you?” Grantaire asked, a smirk flitting across his face. “Not being a scrawny little thing like you does have its advantages sometimes,” he added lowly, pulling at the hem of his shirt.

Enjolras stood up, looking down at Grantaire. “Who are you calling little?”

“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?” Grantaire sighed. “Well, are you going to put that on?”

Enjolras quickly pulled on the sweater, because he felt like Grantaire was on a pretty good way to changing his mind about saving Enjolras from getting a cold and maybe also frostbite.

“Thank you,” Enjolras mumbled. Grantaire’s sweater was huge on him, but it was warm and soft and smelled like oil paints and coffee and Enjolras had to try his hardest not to snuggle right into it. Grantaire was still standing right next to him after all.

“Just give it back whenever,” Grantaire said, nodded at him and then quickly skipped down the stairs, waving at Combeferre, who finally came walking towards the library.

Enjolras kept on the sweater during lunch with Combeferre, who didn’t say a word about his newly acquired clothing and his ridiculous sweater paws, walked home still wearing it and couldn’t really convince himself to take it off even when he’d made himself comfortable on his couch with a book and a blanket.

He’d have to wash the sweater before he gave it back to Grantaire anyway, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone if he kept it on for the evening.

Enjolras gave it back a couple of days later at a meeting, thanked Grantaire and ten minutes later they were back to arguing. Enjolras really shouldn’t have been surprised. He should have known that this random burst of niceness on Grantaire’s part hadn’t changed anything at all and he felt strangely sad about it.

* * *

About two weeks later he was sitting in the back room of the Musain, working on an essay. He liked working back here, mainly because it was quiet enough, but he also had easy access to coffee and delicious baked goods.

When he’d come here, Grantaire had already been there. It looked like he was working on some sketches and even though Enjolras would have preferred to be alone, he could hardly ask Grantaire to leave. He’d been here first after all.

They didn’t talk, only sat in companionable silence, but every now and then Grantaire looked over at him.

After a while, Enjolras was starting to grow uneasy. “What?” he asked, maybe a little too harshly.

“You’ve got goose bumps,” Grantaire muttered. “Are you cold?”

“Just a little,” Enjolras said. He hadn’t even noticed, but he probably should have listened to Combeferre, who’d told him to put on a jacket this morning.

Grantaire sighed and reached into his bag, retrieving his green sweater. “Here…” he said and tossed it across the table.

This time, Enjolras pulled it on without hesitation.

It was just as warm and cozy as last time and Grantaire smiled at him briefly before he turned his attention back to his sketchbook.

When Grantaire eventually got up to leave, Enjolras quickly moved to pull off the sweater, but Grantaire shook his head. “Nah, keep it on, I don’t need it.”

“I’ll give it back–”

“Just keep it as long as you want, it was getting a little too tight for me anyway,” Grantaire mumbled. He cleared his throat. “And you’re always cold and apparently you don’t own a fucking jacket so you probably need it more than I do,” he added quickly, a sly grin appearing on his face.

“Thanks, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, smiling up at him. He’d give it back. He’d definitely give it back, he couldn’t just keep it, as soft and warm and cozy as it was.

The next morning he found it where he’d left it the evening before, still slung over his chair, and thought that he might as well wear it one more time today. Enjolras asked Grantaire if he wanted it back at their next meeting, but he only said, “I told you that you could keep it as long as you wanted,” so Enjolras took it home again.

Combeferre gave him a confused look when he found Enjolras in their kitchen without pants but wearing the green sweater the next morning.

Obviously it struck Enjolras as strange that Grantaire would give him his sweater just like that. Then again, Grantaire had never had a problem with giving his stuff to other people, especially not when those people were his friends – so maybe there was a chance that Grantaire actually did consider him a friend.

Enjolras was a little more elated about that thought than he cared to admit.

* * *

“I honestly don’t understand why you like that sweater so much,” Grantaire said to him one evening. They were at Courfeyrac’s for a movie night and all of their friends had gathered in front of his DVD shelf, squabbling loudly.

“Why?” Enjolras asked, frowning. Christ, this was probably one of those situations where Courfeyrac would describe him as _socially inept_ – maybe Grantaire had only told him to keep it to be nice but actually wanted it back and was annoyed with him for holding on to it for so long. “Do you want it back?”

“No, I told you that you could have it, it’s just…” Grantaire smirked. “It looks a bit like you’re wearing a green potato sack.”

Enjolras was well aware that he was a lot skinnier than Grantaire and that his sweater didn’t fit him at all, but still. He stuck out his bottom lip.

“A very cute sack of potatoes but…” Grantaire trailed off, biting his lip. “I didn’t mean _cute_ , I… I was just saying. Forget it.”

Enjolras resisted the urge to hide his face behind his hands – or sweater paws – and only let out the most embarrassing giggle instead.

Grantaire smiled at him in turn, a genuine smile that made Enjolras’ heart melt a little.

“I just really love this sweater, okay?” Enjolras said defensively when his cheeks were starting to hurt. “It’s nice and warm and really soft.” If he was honest with himself, it wasn’t only Grantaire’s sweater that he was a little bit in love with.

Enjolras took good care not to dwell on that thought, though.

Still, Enjolras caught himself looking in Grantaire’s direction a little more often than before, they talked more and argued less and Enjolras didn’t avoid sitting next to Grantaire anymore in fear of another discussion that would go absolutely nowhere.

If anything, Grantaire tried harder to get his point across without riling him up to no end. He’d buy Enjolras a cup of coffee and systematically pick apart everything he’d said at the meeting and Enjolras would listen instead of just dismissing him. Most of the things that Grantaire had to say actually weren’t half bad.

And Enjolras probably should have guessed that it wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you sleeping with Grantaire or something?” Courfeyrac asked as he flopped down next to Enjolras

“What? No, of course not, why?” Enjolras spluttered.

“Jesus, Enjolras, I’m kidding,” Courfeyrac said, rolling his eyes. “Although you do hang out with him a lot and…” He tugged at Enjolras’ green sweater, “you’re always wearing his clothes.”

“I was cold and Grantaire was nice enough to lend me his sweater,” Enjolras said. Even though that had been weeks ago and it definitely wasn’t the whole story. Enjolras was pretty sure that his cheeks were flaming red and gave away everything he wasn’t saying, but Courfeyrac only narrowed his eyes.

“I see,” Courfeyrac muttered, his lips twitching.

Enjolras hummed, looking around the room to see if anyone had listened in on this short but embarrassing exchange and found Grantaire staring at him. The second he saw Enjolras looking at him, he quickly turned back around and said something to Joly.

Enjolras chewed on this bottom lip. He’d never wanted Grantaire to think– Well, actually he had no idea what exactly Grantaire was thinking right now, but Enjolras still had a feeling that he might have misunderstood, so he promised himself that he’d talk to him later on. Just to make sure.

He waited until Grantaire got up to leave, quickly told Combeferre to go home without him and followed Grantaire out the door.

“Do you mind if I walk you home?” Enjolras asked when he’d caught up with him.

Grantaire didn’t even try to hide his surprise. “You want to walk me home?”

“Yes, and I also wanted to… apologize,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Apologize?” Grantaire echoed. “What for?”

“For earlier.”

“What exactly happened earlier?”

“Well, when I said I wasn’t sleeping with you, I mean, I’m obviously not, but I didn’t mean–”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire interrupted, laughing quietly. It wasn’t a happy laugh, though. “You don’t have to explain yourself or anything. I get it, don’t worry about it,” he said flatly.

“Do you?” Frankly, Enjolras didn’t think Grantaire understood at all. He looked hurt and that was the last thing that Enjolras had wanted.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Do I what?”

“Get it,” Enjolras said, slowly but surely starting to get frustrated. “Because I don’t think you do.”

“Look, I understand that Courfeyrac was just joking around, he knows that you’d never go out with someone like me.”

Enjolras’ frustration quickly turned into confusion. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Grantaire said, shrugging helplessly, “look at you. You look like fucking model with your hair and your eyes and your _cheekbones_ , and I just… don’t.” He tugged his fingers through his curls. “Can we not talk about this?”

“You think I wouldn’t go out with you because of your looks?” Enjolras asked, disbelief coloring his voice. He had absolutely no clue how Grantaire had got that idea.

“Yes, Enjolras, that’s exactly what I think,” Grantaire said, not unkindly. He stopped in his tracks. “And that’s fine, believe me, it’s absolutely fine.”

“But I–”

“It’s nice that we get along better than we used to, but you don’t have to… pretend that you… _like_ me.” Grantaire wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Don’t do that, okay? You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m not _pretending_ ,” Enjolras snapped. He’d never meant to say it like this, he’d meant to sort out his feelings, figure out what he wanted, because of course he’d noticed that he was feeling differently about Grantaire than he had before. He’d been planning on talking to Grantaire about it once he was ready to.

He wasn’t at all ready right now and had no idea what to say, but he didn’t have too many options. He just needed Grantaire to understand.

Grantaire looked up, his brow creased, his mouth hanging open a little. “What?”

“You’re right, we’re getting along better than before, but that’s not all, you’re nice and I really li–”

“Stop right there,” Grantaire said, taking a step back. “I let you borrow my sweater and we had some nice conversations, but I’m still me and you’re still you and I need you to think about what you were about to say and think about whether or not you really mean it.”

“Of course I mean it,” Enjolras said immediately, folding his arms across his chest.

“But _why_?” Grantaire asked.

“Because I liked the conversations and I like wearing your sweater and I realized that I don’t only like wearing it because it’s warm and cozy, but because it’s _yours_ ,” Enjolras said, his voice growing louder steadily. Enjolras took a deep breath. He hadn’t even thought too much about that last part, it had just fallen into place all of a sudden.

“You’re serious,” Grantaire said lowly. “You’re really serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” Enjolras said. Actually Grantaire himself had once told him that he was too serious all the time. He thought it wiser not to bring that up right now.

Grantaire took a deep breath. “This is completely ridiculous,” he said, nodding to himself, “this is never going to… Do we really want to do this? I mean, chances are that this is going to end badly for both of us.”

“It might not,” Enjolras insisted. He’d spent too much time thinking about holding Grantaire’s hand and kissing him and stealing more of his sweaters to just give in right now. “Please, Grantaire?”

Grantaire remained silent for a few long seconds and Enjolras would have given anything to know what he was thinking right now. Eventually, he sighed and smiled faintly. “How about I take you out for dinner?” he asked. “Friday night?”

Enjolras nodded, unable to hold back a smile. “And can I still walk you home?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said. “I live right down the street, though.” He held out his hand. “But maybe we could take a little detour.”

Enjolras took his hand. “That’s fine with me.”

* * *

“You know, sometimes I’m not sure if you even have any clothes of your own,” Grantaire said. He was the one to talk – he was completely naked apart from his boxers and the apron he’d brought to Enjolras’ because they’d soon figured of which one of them was better at making breakfast.

It certainly wasn’t Enjolras.

Enjolras looked down at his – well, actually Grantaire’s – shirt. “It was right there,” he muttered, padding over to Grantaire. It had been on the floor, right where he’d dropped it the night before and Enjolras had practically stumbled over it.

“Yeah, and your own was right next to it,” Grantaire said, flipping a pancake before he turned to smile at Enjolras. “But it’s fine, it wouldn’t be the first item of clothing to vanish from my closet all of a sudden.”

“You gave me that sweater,” Enjolras protested. Although he had to admit that it hadn’t just been that one sweater. He’d given all of those back – not the green one, though. Grantaire sometimes wore it when he’d spent the night and didn’t have anything else to wear, but it always found its way back into Enjolras’ possession.

Now that he thought about it, maybe there also were a couple of shirts of Grantaire’s that Enjolras had never given back – there was one with a lot of paint stains that wouldn’t come out anymore that Enjolras always wore at night when Grantaire wasn’t around – but so far Grantaire had never actually complained.

“Stop sulking,” Grantaire said and reached out to squeeze his hand. “It’s just a little unfair that you can steal all of my clothes and I can’t steal any of yours.”

“You can always steal back what I stole from you,” Enjolras mused. He wrapped his arms around Grantaire from behind and pressed a kiss to the scar on Grantaire’s shoulder. Enjolras still didn’t know how he’d got it. Every time he asked him about it, Grantaire came up with a new ridiculous story.

The same thing went for Grantaire’s tattoos. Enjolras had spent an entire evening taking a close look at all of them and, sensing how uncomfortable Grantaire had been in the beginning, he’d asked him to tell him about them. The first few stories had actually been believable, the rest – not so much.

Grantaire looked over his shoulder, grinning at him. “Steal it back, huh?”

Enjolras only hummed in reply and nuzzled into Grantaire’s curls. “Anytime you want,” he muttered, planting a kiss behind his ear.

Grantaire laughed and tugged at the shirt Enjolras was wearing. “Give me minute,” he said, neglecting his pancakes for a second to give Enjolras a kiss in return.


End file.
